David.Jerome
New Member
Chapter One.
Synchronized with pulsating lights, the bass pumped through the giant speakers like a massive cardiac arrest. Red and blue beams cut the pitch-blackness, as the booming techno and house mix brought the crowd alive on the dance floor.
Those on cocaine danced fearlessly. X users ebbed and flowed, drowning in the dance floor’s raging torrent. Meth-addicts grinded aggressively, grabbing and being grabbed, by any and everyone, until an orgy of grinding hips viciously swirled on and around them. Those who mixed drugs lost identity completely, dancing erratically then listlessly without warning.
Outside, in the warm June night, young women lay lifeless against the walls by the back door of the club. Bent over or sprawled out on the floor, they vomited, limitless cleavage and thongs exposed, moaning after each spew. Others could be heard laughing, while a guy or girlfriend held them up, keeping their weak bodies from collapsing on the ground—something many girls did repeatedly, sometimes only seconds between falls.
A tan-skinned woman with light-brown hair sat outside against the wall. She wore a white blouse with a blue and purple pinstriped skirt. Her back arched. She held her head against the wall with both hands clasping her forehead. Her legs were spread open, nothing underneath her skirt, which had a slit on the right side of her thigh, all the way up to her hip.
The woman’s legs rocked and swayed. Her head rushed; she braced herself though the intensity of it, amplified by the universe spinning. She rocked steadily, letting the warm late-spring breeze blow between her legs. Heart pounding, she put one hand between her thighs, rubbing herself, briefly distracting her from the whirring chaos in her head.
Stroking herself, she lightly banged her head rhythmically against the brick wall of the club, storms raging through her mind. Her wild, untamed hair flared vibrantly as her middle finger pressed harder and moved faster, soon being joined by her forefinger. Her other hand ran through her hair, grabbing a lock of it. She rubbed vigorously between her legs, pitting strong sexual sensations against the all-consuming tempest in her head, warring against it, fighting with fervent strokes of her fingers.
She breathed hard. The sensory feast between her legs raged on, until she had an impossibly hard climax. Her mouth gaped open, letting out a deep growl as she came. She banged her head against the brick wall, and fell over on her side. She grabbed her head, screaming, and her heart rate became volatile. Her orgasm was over; she had no weapon left to distract her mind, while legions of pulsating, spinning sensations invaded it.
Her hands grabbed the sides of her head. She rocked hard, drawing her knees to her chest then away in rapid motions; she felt like she was being launched high into stormy clouds at hundreds of miles an hour, in zigzagging, broken patterns of flight.
Her chest pounded right before going into a sudden heart attack. She slumped to the floor. Then, her body lay still.
A tall blonde walked by. She wore a tight blue mini-skirt, a blue halter-top, and red, glittered stilettos. She stumbled over the woman’s body, and caught the wall with her outstretched palm, nearly falling to her knees. Her breasts popped out of her low-cut halter-top. She stood, gathering herself. Her right nostril bled. Her hair, messed up. She adjusted her skirt and left her breasts as they were, bouncing unrestricted, heels clattering as she moved.
The blonde wiped her nose with her bare hand as she stepped over the body. She wiped the blood on her skirt, and went back in the club.
Synchronized with pulsating lights, the bass pumped through the giant speakers like a massive cardiac arrest. Red and blue beams cut the pitch-blackness, as the booming techno and house mix brought the crowd alive on the dance floor.
Those on cocaine danced fearlessly. X users ebbed and flowed, drowning in the dance floor’s raging torrent. Meth-addicts grinded aggressively, grabbing and being grabbed, by any and everyone, until an orgy of grinding hips viciously swirled on and around them. Those who mixed drugs lost identity completely, dancing erratically then listlessly without warning.
Outside, in the warm June night, young women lay lifeless against the walls by the back door of the club. Bent over or sprawled out on the floor, they vomited, limitless cleavage and thongs exposed, moaning after each spew. Others could be heard laughing, while a guy or girlfriend held them up, keeping their weak bodies from collapsing on the ground—something many girls did repeatedly, sometimes only seconds between falls.
A tan-skinned woman with light-brown hair sat outside against the wall. She wore a white blouse with a blue and purple pinstriped skirt. Her back arched. She held her head against the wall with both hands clasping her forehead. Her legs were spread open, nothing underneath her skirt, which had a slit on the right side of her thigh, all the way up to her hip.
The woman’s legs rocked and swayed. Her head rushed; she braced herself though the intensity of it, amplified by the universe spinning. She rocked steadily, letting the warm late-spring breeze blow between her legs. Heart pounding, she put one hand between her thighs, rubbing herself, briefly distracting her from the whirring chaos in her head.
Stroking herself, she lightly banged her head rhythmically against the brick wall of the club, storms raging through her mind. Her wild, untamed hair flared vibrantly as her middle finger pressed harder and moved faster, soon being joined by her forefinger. Her other hand ran through her hair, grabbing a lock of it. She rubbed vigorously between her legs, pitting strong sexual sensations against the all-consuming tempest in her head, warring against it, fighting with fervent strokes of her fingers.
She breathed hard. The sensory feast between her legs raged on, until she had an impossibly hard climax. Her mouth gaped open, letting out a deep growl as she came. She banged her head against the brick wall, and fell over on her side. She grabbed her head, screaming, and her heart rate became volatile. Her orgasm was over; she had no weapon left to distract her mind, while legions of pulsating, spinning sensations invaded it.
Her hands grabbed the sides of her head. She rocked hard, drawing her knees to her chest then away in rapid motions; she felt like she was being launched high into stormy clouds at hundreds of miles an hour, in zigzagging, broken patterns of flight.
Her chest pounded right before going into a sudden heart attack. She slumped to the floor. Then, her body lay still.
A tall blonde walked by. She wore a tight blue mini-skirt, a blue halter-top, and red, glittered stilettos. She stumbled over the woman’s body, and caught the wall with her outstretched palm, nearly falling to her knees. Her breasts popped out of her low-cut halter-top. She stood, gathering herself. Her right nostril bled. Her hair, messed up. She adjusted her skirt and left her breasts as they were, bouncing unrestricted, heels clattering as she moved.
The blonde wiped her nose with her bare hand as she stepped over the body. She wiped the blood on her skirt, and went back in the club.
